Chapter 20 Maya #2
I slid my hand up his chest, over the hard plane of his shoulder, and let my fingers settle against the back of his neck. The short hair at his nape was soft under my fingertips, and when I traced lightly across it, his grip on my back tightened.
We swayed. Barely moving. The music was just an excuse at this point, a reason to be this close with this much contact, and we both knew it.
His thumb traced a slow circle against my lower back, just above the waistband of my jeans, and the sensation radiated outward until my whole body was humming.
I tilted my chin up, and his face was right there.
Inches away. Close enough that the muscle jumped in his jaw, close enough that his warm breath brushed my temple.
“You’re playing with fire, Slayer.” Low and rough, meant only for me.
“Maybe I want to get burned.”
His hand flexed against my back, pulling me impossibly closer. My hips pressed into his. The evidence of exactly how affected he was sent a bolt of heat through me so intense my fingers curled into his shirt.
His forehead dropped to my temple. A war raged inside him, his rigid control fighting against every point where our bodies touched. His breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling against mine, and when I turned my head just slightly, my lips grazed the corner of his jaw.
A sound rumbled through his chest, rough and desperate.
My own pulse roared, easily drowning out the music.
Every inch of skin where he touched me felt like it was on fire, and the ache low in my stomach was urgent and consuming.
I wanted to climb him like a tree right here on this sticky dance floor, and the only thing stopping me was the last functioning shred of my dignity.
The song faded into something faster, and reality crept back in at the edges. Other sounds. Other people. The clink of glasses, a burst of laughter from somewhere near the bar.
His hand stayed on my back, mine stayed on his neck, and for a few more seconds we just breathed, foreheads almost touching, suspended in the charged space between what we were doing and what we wanted to do.
Then I stepped back. It took everything I had.
His hand trailed off my back slowly, fingers dragging across the fabric of my shirt like they were memorizing the shape of me. His eyes were nearly black, his expression raw and undone, turning my knees to liquid.
I couldn’t speak, so I just turned and walked back to the table on shaky legs.
Poppy’s mouth was hanging open. Hannah had both hands pressed flat on the table like she was physically restraining herself from screaming. Brody looked like a man who had just witnessed something magnificent and would be dining out on it for years.
I dropped into my chair, my body on fire, my skin still tingling everywhere he’d touched me.
Poppy leaned close. “I need you to know that I am emotionally compromised and may never recover.”
“Join the club.”
Nate appeared at the edge of the table, grabbed his jacket and fished his keys from his pocket. “I’m heading out. Good night, everyone.”
His voice was strained. Controlled in that careful way that meant the control was costing him. He kept his gaze strictly ahead as he turned and walked toward the door, his shoulders tight, his stride too fast to be casual.
The door swung shut behind him.
I sat there, frozen, the heat still coursing through my system colliding with a cold spike of panic. He was leaving. Again.
Hannah grabbed my arm. “Go. Now. Don’t let him get away.”
I was out of my chair before she’d finished the sentence.
The night air hit me as I shoved through the door, cool and sharp after the warmth of the bar. The parking lot was half-empty, overhead lights casting long shadows across the gravel, and there he was. Nearly at his truck, keys in hand.
“Hey!”
He stopped. His back was to me, his shoulders rising and falling with a breath that looked like it came from somewhere deep.
I closed the distance between us, my heart in my throat.
He turned slowly, the overhead lights catching the raw, feral heat blazing in his eyes. Every ounce of his careful control had vanished.
The second I was close enough, his hand caught the back of my neck. His mouth crashed into mine as he spun me around, pushing me against his truck.
His body pinned me against the door, one hand gripping my hip, the other tangled in my hair. He kissed me like a man who’d been holding his breath for weeks and had finally, violently, run out of air.
Heat flooded my system, white-hot and all-consuming. I grabbed fistfuls of his jacket and hauled him closer, kissing him back with everything I had. His tongue swept against mine and a sound tore out of me, wild and completely uncontrollable.
His hips ground into mine and oh god, he was so hard. His hand tightened in my hair, and for a few blazing, reckless seconds, nothing existed except his mouth and his hands and the solid wall of his body holding me up.
Then, slowly, agonizingly, he eased back, just enough for his mouth to leave mine.
“Fuck.” The word was barely a whisper, rough and wrecked.
His forehead dropped to mine, and we stood there, breathing hard, chests heaving against each other.
His hands were still on me, one in my hair, one on my hip, and mine were still twisted in his jacket, both of us desperately clinging to the wreckage.
Several long seconds passed before his breathing steadied enough to speak.
“I don’t want this.”
“Liar.”
His jaw clenched. “Maya...”
“You want me.” I was breathless, my lips swollen, my pulse still hammering. “You just proved it. So stop pretending you don’t.”
His voice was raw, scraped down to something honest and exposed. “Wanting you was never the problem.”
“I know you’re leaving.” I loosened my grip on his jacket, smoothing the fabric flat against his chest, his heart thudding against my palms. “I’m not asking you to stay, or asking for forever. I’m just asking for right now.”
All the fight drained away. The hard lines of his face softened, exposing the raw, desperate ache underneath.
“We’re adults, Nate. We both know the score. You’re here, I’m here, and we want each other. Why does it have to be more complicated than that?”
He stared at me, his thumb still tracing an absent path along my hip, like his body was already on board even if his brain was still catching up.
“How about you think about it?” I rose onto my toes and pressed my lips to his. Softer this time. Slower. More a promise than a demand. His breath shuddered against my mouth and he cupped my cheek, holding me there for a beat longer than he probably meant to.
I pulled back and met his eyes. They were still dark, still burning, but the frantic edge had eased into something quieter. Something dangerously close to surrender.
“Okay.” His voice was rough. “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
I stepped out of his space. His hand dropped from my cheek, his fingers trailing down my arm before falling to his side. He looked dazed. Wrecked. And so fucking gorgeous it was killing me.
“Night, Nate.” I smiled. “Sweet dreams.”
He let out a breath that was almost a laugh, shaking his head as he reached for the truck door. “Yeah. Sure.”
He climbed in, turned the key in the ignition, kicked the engine over.
But he didn’t move. He just sat there with both hands on the wheel, staring through the windshield like he was trying to remember how driving worked.
After a long moment, he pulled out of the lot, taillights disappearing down the road.
The night air was cool on my flushed skin as I pressed my fingers to my lips where his warmth still lingered.
Operation Bang Nate was on schedule.
And I was in so much trouble.